The Rose Trade
by EmRose92
Summary: The Doctor and Rose arrive on a slave-trader's planet to refuel the TARDIS. But there is a tear in the rift, and when Rose is snatched by traders, both the Ninth and Tenth Doctors come to rescue her at the slave market. It comes down to the two doctors to repair the rift in time and bring down the slave trade...and sort out which Rose belongs to which Doctor. Rose/Nine, Rose/Ten.


My first multi-chapter Doctor Who fic. This is kind of more of a prologue than the first chapter, but it functions the same. I'll try to keep the confusion between the two Roses and Nine and Ten down, but please let me know if you're ever lost. I'll use breaks to indicate a change of point of view.

Oh, and this is a Rose-friendly piece, because I like her. There probably won't be any more than mentions or hints of Rose/Nine or Rose/Ten, but there WILL be hints.

Please review at the end, let me know what you think and if I should continue!

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**One**

Rose Tyler had broken Rule #1.

"Don't wander off," the Doctor had said, looking at her with those stormy eyes and flinging up the hood of the cloak he'd found in the wardrobe upstairs. "I've got to keep a low profile here—I'm the planet's most wanted!" He'd grinned that toothy, exuberant grin (the one that made his large ears twitch just a little, the one that always made her giggle) sounding positively gleeful at this, but pointed at her sternly as buckled the cloak in front, obscuring his black leather completely. "So don't wander off. Keep close. We'll explore for a bit, just a bit, until she recharges enough to get us back to Cardiff. A few hours. No more."

She'd almost asked how he expected to keep a low profile wearing a daft cloak and hood like the outlaw he (apparently) was, but as soon as they'd stepped outside the TARDIS she had swallowed her words. They had landed tucked away in a tangle of backstreets, circled with dark stone, medieval apartments with laundry lines slung haphazardly above their heads and a few stray six-legged dogs rooting around in the street rubble.

A cloaked man spared them a glance as he walked by, guiding a thin, mangy looking donkey pulling a covered cart behind him. All she could see was the frown of his mouth and a slanting scar that started at his chin and curved up under the fabric that obscured the top half of his face. Another hooded figure bumped into the Doctor and mumbled a quick curse word and an apology before scuttling inside the door to their left.

In fact, nearly everyone they saw wore dark, nondescript cloaks of some kind, as if they were afraid to be seen.

When she'd asked _why_? The Doctor had bent down to talk quietly and quickly into her ear.

"Slave planet," he'd said. "Everyone's afraid of getting snatched and sold in the markets. I tried to put a stop to it a few years back, started a revolution that overthrew the traders. Looks like they've made a comeback. And this face is what started it all last time—don't think they'll be too happy that I'm back. Fantastic, isn't it?"

"Are you going to start another revolution?" She hadn't been able to help but smile at the childish pleasure in his voice, but he shook his head.

"Nah. Don't have the time! Maybe we'll come back again though…this old planet needs fixing up every so often. Maybe it's about time for another one. Revolution, that is."

"But for now…"

"For now, we're just recharging. So stay close, Rose Tyler. No wandering off!"

But of course, she had. And of course, she'd gotten separated from the Doctor, and of course the second she'd turned to notice that he wasn't right behind her anymore she'd been grabbed from behind and hustled into a covered cart that already housed several other quiet, dejected-looking people. She had screamed for the Doctor, but once she realized that either the flimsy-looking walls of the cart were somehow soundproof or that no-one outside cared, she'd quieted down, feeling very conspicuous in her bright pink jacket and jeans next to these pale people in their blacks and browns. Why the Doctor hadn't given her a cloak too she didn't know, but she supposed it had simply slipped his mind. Sometimes his lack of common sense reminded her that as brilliant as he was, as Time Lord as he was, he was still male.

So, Rose Tyler had broken Rule #1. And now she was standing on a dais in front of a large mass of howling people (mostly men in leathers and cloaks), her hands bound crudely in rough brown hemp, hair wisping into her face in a cool breeze, waiting to be sold.

And the Doctor was nowhere in sight.

* * *

The Doctor had lost Rose. Again. "Don't wander off!" Hadn't he _said_ that? "You stay close, cause this planet's got a reputation for slave trading and I never made it back to start that second revolution like I'd always planned. Knew the first one wouldn't keep, I was in too much of a hurry…well, I was being chased off planet, really, locals didn't like me much, and their dogs can be nasty…well, when I say dogs…anyways. Point is, stick close because I don't want you snatched and sold. Nasty business. But they won't bother you with me around; they'll think you already belong to me, and they've got a sort of sense of honor…anyways. Stick close."

"They'll think I _belong_ to you?" Rose had asked, her face scrunching up, clearly on the verge of being offended. "Well, if it was anyone else…"

"What, you don't mind being owned by me?" He'd almost said, but just grinned at her instead, slung on his long overcoat, grabbed her hand, and slipped out of the TARDIS. They had arrived a twist of back alleys and streets, and he pulled the door shut carefully behind him and looked for a familiar landmark.

"We're just refueling, remember," he'd said. "Just refueling for a few hours. This is a powerful rift…" he'd stuck out his tongue, tasting the air, and shaken his head. "And I don't like the taste of things. Something's not quite right."

"We could go," Rose had suggested, and she sounded half-serious, now that she was outside in the slightly-stifling air, looking around at figures in long earth-toned cloaks. She squeezed his hand gently, and he squeezed back, sensing that she was suddenly self-conscious and a little nervous. "You're sure they won't bother us?"

"Positive," he'd said. "You're with me. They'll leave us alone. Not ones to pick a fight, the slave traders of Axista Four! Especially not with someone as intimidating as…"

"As you? Right," Rose had interrupted, and the Doctor squeezed her hand again, feeling something warm bloom inside his chest. He loved this, spending time with her. Loved every second of it, even when they were on a slightly boring (albeit slightly dangerous) planet that dealt in interplanetary slave trade.

And then she was gone, disappeared around some corner somewhere when he had his back turned, hand dropped for just a second when he pulled out his sonic screwdriver to test the air.

"It's funny," he'd mumbled, checking the readings with a growing feeling of worry in his stomach. "It's not quite right here, Rose. And I don't like it, I don't like it at all. We'd better wait in the TARDIS. Just a few hours, it'll be fine; I don't like the feel of the rift, it's never felt like this before, like there's someone else, something else going on I can't…Rose?"

And just like that she wasn't there anymore, and he'd had no idea where she'd gone. Where could she have possibly wandered to, he'd wondered, what could have _possibly_ grabbed her attention? His hearts sank into his toes as the answer came…_nothing_. Nothing here on this drab, dingy, quiet, nervous little planet could have grabbed her attention away from him enough to make her vanish like this.

She'd been snatched.

He'd checked the sun then, desperately. Almost high noon, almost time for the slave trade. So he'd taken off running like the slave traders themselves were after him, dodging a large covered cart pulled by a drooping donkey, leaping over a few six-legged sniffer dogs, and around and through the maze of alleys that were vaguely familiar now.

He'd emerged into the center square, the one with a large raised dais in the center, out of breath but furious, furious at himself for letting go of her hand (why hadn't he at least got them cloaks, blended them into the background, instead of being cocky enough to think he could keep her safe, as brightly blue and pink as she was today), angry at her for letting herself get caught, scared to death that she'd get sold privately and shipped off planet instead of on the market where he could buy her himself and whisk her safely back to the TARDIS.

The square was filling up slowly, and he'd checked the sun again.

"Come on, come on, come on," he'd whispered through clenched teeth, and shouldered his way forward, aiming for center-crowd towards the front so he'd be most easily heard. He'd accidentally shouldered a broad-chested, hooded man rather roughly as he passed, who said "Watch it, dandy!" in a vaguely familiar, thick Northern accent. He'd tossed a quick, "sorry, mate," over his shoulder, and something uncomfortable, even painful, had boiled in his stomach for a moment. He had licked his finger and tasted the air again, and the uncomfortable nervousness began to turn to something like dread.

"Something is _really, really _wrong."

He'd danced impatiently on the spot for nearly half-an-hour while the square filled steadily and the slave traders gathered behind the dais with their wagons.

He'd debated checking the wagons himself, sneaking back there and finding her, breaking her out, but he knew how vicious the trained sniffer dogs could be, and there were dozens wandering around the wagons, protecting their cargo. It would be foolish to draw attention to himself even if he _could_ fend them and their keepers off long enough to find and rescue his wayward companion.

He'd brainstormed ways to cause an earthquake to disrupt the trading, but couldn't think of a way around damaging civilians along with the traders.

He'd thought of racing back to the TARDIS and tracking Rose, materializing around her, but knew there wasn't time to get there and back before the trading started, and at any rate, the TARDIS was still recharging.

And then he'd promised himself that whatever it took, he'd start that second revolution. They wouldn't recognize _this_ face, he was safe here now, he could overturn the whole thing again and this time he'd make sure it stayed inoperative permanently. For Rose. If she was out there, in one of those wagons, and not already a planet or two away.

High noon had hit.

And the slave trading had begun.

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